


Tumblr drabbles

by zeuswrites



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 04:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7743631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeuswrites/pseuds/zeuswrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of old drabbles, too short to warrant being posted separately. All written before season 11.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Tucker and Caboose give Wash the Blue Army Orientation once they get back to their canyon."

“Tell me I’m not reading this right.” To Washington’s credit, his voice was almost calm. He prodded the offensive paragrah violently, looking Simmons straight into the visor. “Tell me I’m bleeding out in the snow as polar bears toss my dying carcass around for fun, and this is my dying nightmare.”

Simmons’ helmet didn’t move, but Grif could feel the glance his friend threw him; comes with knowing each other too long. Instantly picking up the cue, he folded his arms and stared the shaking freelancer down.

“Sorry, man. Karaoke nights are mandatory. No ifs, no buts.”

“We enclose the recordings with monthly reports," Simmons added gravely. “Apparently it’s been proven to improve the morale and help soldiers bond over shared humiliation. Don’t worry, you don’t have to be good at it, just… enthusiastic.” He sighed theatrically. 

“Tomorrow’s Kanye night," Grif chimed in. 

Washington looked from Grif to Simmons, back to Grif, then back to Simmons and at the rulebook in his hand, then into the abyss, searching desperately for a sign, any sign. The abyss stared back at him, and informed him soberly that yes, he could, in fact, believe that their orders would be that stupid. His consciousness dropped back into Valhalla; Grif ad Simmons were looking at him with polite interests, heads tilted, Grif’s hands clasped behind his back. 

“It’s not like we like it, too," one of them assured him, nevermind which one, they were a two-headed monster as far as Wash cared, anyway. “But watcha gonna do, huh?” He nodded, than turned around and walked away, dropping the crumpled manual. He was too afraid to read any more of it, anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Tucker and Junior bonding time.

Church assumed it was supposed to be Tucker, if the mess of blue and green lines somewhat passing for teal was any indication. Why he had three arms, it was hard to tell; Church was also mildly disconcerted by the claws and, most of all, wondered why Junior saw fit to draw his dad swinging a sword on top of what seemed to be a pile of red _and_ blue corpses. He could hazard a guess it was a bloodthirsty alien hybrid’s idea of “my daddy is the best”, which only added blatant lie to injury. Or maybe the thing was straight-up waiting for a chance to kill all of them. Could be either.

It really wasn’t something he wanted to look at every time he wanted to grab a beer from the fridge.

“Try to take it down and I will shit on your grave," Tucker said.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Wash and York bromance."

“York, old buddy, care to explain what you’re doing in my bed?” Washington asked, eyes fixed on the ceiling. The arm slung over his chest twitched, and the rest of York stretched out in a long yawn.

“Mornin’, babe," he said, flashing his Tried Sizzling Smile no. 3 (Wash knew exactly which one it was, York once drew him a goddamn guide to his “Smoulder Ways”, and he couldn’t forget the fucking thing no matter how much he wanted to). Wash felt completely justified in kicking him to the floor.

“Oooph! You asshole! There was a spider!”

“What?”

“A giant-ass spider. In my room. And you know me, I’m not territorial, right? Live and let live. So I told him _sure, Gary, you and your kids can crash here for a night. I’ll sleep in my best buddy’s bunk tonight, he will understand. He wouldn’t just kick a family out right before christmas._ ”

“Since when have you been afraid of spiders?”

“Since they've been growing big enough to bite Maine’s hand off. The entire left wing is being decontaminated, so good news, I’ll be sleeping here for the rest of the week.”

“This isn’t funny, York,” Wash hissed, huddling under his blanket and suppressing the urge to glance at the air vent.

“We were also reassigned to decontamination duty. Hope you remember how to handle a flamethrower.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Director/FILLS".

“FILLS, if you don’t stop sending me anti-smoking propaganda, I will have you reverted to default settings.”

“ _The statistics show smoking causes a large propability of premature death and multiple diseases. It’s also my duty to remind you this level is a strict no-smoking area._ ”

“Who are you, my fascist robot mother?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Grif/Simmons, Simmons teaching Grif how to play a Zelda game".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've literally never played a Zelda game in my life and never owned a console, so, uh, if I wrote something stupid, excusez-moi.

“Oh my God, does this thing ever SHUT UP?” Grif snapped.

“After an hour or two, you learn to put it on your white filter noise,” Simmons replied, head in Grif’s lap. “Anyway, you will need a key to the dungeon, so you gotta–”

“Wait. Didn’t I already get a key?” Grif squinted at the screen. “When do I get to shoot something, anyway?”

“The keys break after you use them”, Simmons sighed. “And you can shoot arrows, but–”

“Do I get an uzi?”

“NO!”

“This game sucks," Grif frowned.He went quiet for a couple of minutes, swinging the sword at every tree and boulder he came across. Simmons sighed again and closed his eyes.

“So, does this Zelda guy have anything other than swords an arrows? I dunno, a mace, maybe?”

Simons gasped and sat up so abruptly he almost uppercut Grif with his head, then tore the controller out of Grif's hands and pressed it close to his chest. They stared at each other for a moment, one seething, the other extremely confused.

“Feel free to stay in your bunk tonight," Simmons said icily.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Maine/CT". Good ole training room UST. Mild asphyxiation warning, I guess.

“Surrender before I break your neck, asshole”, she said, trying to keep Maine from freeing himself. Not an easy task, seeing how he was twice as big as her, and thrashing like an animal.

He roared and jerked his head again, banging his fist on her thigh, trying to pry her legs open.

She squeezed tighter.

He let out a squeak of all sounds, and finally - slowly - raised his hand in a gesture of defeat. She opened her legs, releasing his neck from between her thighs. As he scrambled on all fours and gulped for air, slamming his fist into the ground hard enough to crack the tile, she thought that she owed an apology to the next person scheduled for sparring with him.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "North and South, sibling stuff."

He sighed and started picking up the clothes scattered on the floor to dump them in the washer. Collected the empty mugs, snack cake wrappers, and Red Bull cans. Opened the curtains and set the window ajar to let the stench of dust and sweat out. Turned the lights off.

He took one of her sweaters and draped it over her shoulders.

She mumbled something in her sleep, drool smearing her notes. He gently removed the textbooks and notebooks from under her head and set them aside.

“Three days”, she drawled, raising her head for a moment. “Three days n’ I’m a free woman ag'n.”

“Told you you should have started studying earlier,” he indulged.

“Suck my dick,” she replied, already half-asleep, forehead thunking against her desk.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Tucker has a deep conversation with another person from the series."

“You-you think you know someone,” he says, motioning with his beer towards the fridge of all things, “you think.”

“You hang out, drink, sometimes shoot at things, and you think, okay, this is not so bad. But asshole suddenly turns out to be _important _, and just because you were unlucky enough to shit in the same fucking zipcode as him, you have to be his fucking little helper and tail him all over the galaxy, because–” Wash finally looked up from the bottom of his bottle. He wondered where the other man was going with this, if anywhere.__

Tucker sat silent for several seconds, brow furrowed, before he mumbled, “if you make me start caring about your stupid ass, the least you could do is warn me you made a habit of dying.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Donut ghostfic, set in that time Wash shooting him dead was plausible enough that we were all indulging in ghostfic.

The Ark is seventy-two thousands of miles wide.

It’s two hundred and sixty-two thousands of light years away from the galactic center.

From there, it’s - small thing! - twenty-five thousands light years; it’s ten trillion kilometers times 25,000, a thousand meters in each kilometer, a hundred centimeters in each meter.

1246 miles to the border.

119 miles to Saylorville Lake.

8 miles to Northwest 94th Avenue.

140 feet to the front door.

Three inches to the doorbell.

He wonders if he can do it. He doesn’t have a body to slow him down; maybe if he concentrates hard enough, he’ll float up, and up, and up, and make his way home. He wonders how long it would take. Twenty inches per second. 63 360 inches in a mile. 5,865,696,000,000 miles in a light year. His mother’s life, in how many miles?

He wants to go home, but space is so big, and he’s just a tiny little soul.


End file.
